Erased
by DirtyPopsicles
Summary: Lisbon is ready to move on in her life, but when she goes missing for an extended period of time, things change for her in the most vulnerable of ways. Unable to remember the details of her disappearance, Jane may be her only chance to put the pieces together and solve what happened to her. Their relationship, however, is changed forever by what they uncover together.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I hope you enjoy this story. It will be a short story that I hope to finish soon. Thanks for reading, and i am glad to be back to writing!

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

Hesitation was such a small thing that often cast the biggest shadow for Teresa Lisbon. When she was young, her father would tell her that deciding to wait for something could be the difference between getting ahead and getting left behind. Her mother, on the other hand, had a more easygoing approach to hesitation: if you hesitated, and it didn't happen, then it wasn't meant to be in the first place. Maybe that is why she was currently looking down at an application for a position as lead investigator for the San Diego squad.

"You strapped him to a chair and threatened to push him off a building!" she heard Rigsby say as they walked into her line of view. "That's not exactly protocol."

"Meh," came the reply she'd come to expect from one Patrick Jane. "It was a hypnosis. He wasn't really _on_ a building."

She looked up now, her mouth set low in a disapproving frown. She hastily pushed the nearly completed application under her blotter and folded her hands in front of her, willing herself not to roll her eyes at Jane's defense argument.

"It doesn't matter that it was from—" she tried to find a kind word to describe it, but failed, "mind pokey. Now I'll have to explain to the D.A. why our suspect keeps screaming that you 'did some bad juju' on him." She turned to him as he passed her and sat on his rickety couch behind her.

"Good morning, Lisbon," he replied cheerfully. "He should be convicted on the usage of the word 'juju', anyway," he added offhandedly.

She lifted a corner of her mouth. "The law doesn't work that way, and neither do we."

Before he could answer her back, her desk phone rang, cutting through the noise of the bullpen sharply. She stole one more glance at Jane before picking it up on the third ring.

"CBI, Lisbon." She listened for a minute, turning in her chair briefly to motion to Rigsby they had a case. "We'll be there in forty-five." She hung up and turned to Jane, her eyes narrowed. "You better behave yourself. We're already the laughing stock of the CBI. There is a case at the base of Tatter's Bridge. Rigsby knows how to get there."

Jane lifted his two hands in surrender. "Don't I always?" His smile nearly cracked his cheeks. "That was rhetorical, Teresa." He lifted himself from the groaning couch and stood expectantly, his gaze falling Rigsby.

"Oh, come on, boss!" Rigsby moaned, "it's Cho's turn to take him!" His mouth fell into a pouty frown.

"Cho had a deposition," she replied with a roll of her green eyes. "Get going if you want to get there before Christmas."

"You're not coming along?"

"I've got something I gotta do," Lisbon replied, glancing quickly at the blotter that held her application. "I'll be right behind you guys. Go!"

She couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that was coursing through her veins as Jane and Rigsby set off toward the elevators. Choosing between her career advancement and the people she considered family-in some cases, more than family-was a hard, bitter pill to swallow so quickly.

She couldn't even admit to herself that the fact her belongings at home were packed up in boxes and labeled for a potential move to San Diego. In fact, the day she picked up that application is the day she emptied her shelves of her brothers' pictures, and dusted off her old police academy textbooks was the same day she packed them into those boxes.

When her head hit the pillow at night, though, there were lingering doubts. Not about anything to do with her parting ways with the CBI, but more her parting with Jane. It was a part of her life for years; _he_ was a part of her life for years. She tried to understand the capacity in which he served her, but it only left lingering questions that she much rather not touch. Her eyes once again drifted to her blotter. She sighed deeply, her fingers reaching out for the application and plucking it from its hidden spot. As her fingers hit the stiff paper, she hesitated; she felt like she was running away from something, and Teresa Lisbon didn't run away from anything! But-like some constant reminder in her head-she had a lot of reasons to move on, too, besides Patrick Jane.

Picking up her pen off her desk, Lisbon completed the application.

* * *

Jane lifted one long finger toward his colleague, the smile unable to fall gracefully from his face. He was standing just at the bottom of Tatter's Bridge, his legs straddling a clearly deceased male. Facing his him, Rigsby stood with his arms crossed, his face held in an expression of concentration.

"You're telling me this guy died by an accidental fall?" The disbelief etched Rigsby's words. "How did you conclude that?"

"He's too close to the edge of the cliff," he stated matter-of-factly, pointing a finger above their heads to a steep cliff that jutted from the jagged rocks. "If he had been pushed, he would have fallen...over there." He swung his finger to point behind Rigsby. "Several feet farther, actually. Law of gravity."

"We've been here for two hours. Couldn't you have said this sooner?"

"I had to be sure," he said, though his voice sounded distracted now. "Have you gotten ahold of Lisbon yet?"

Rigsby sighed. "No. It's not like her, but maybe the thing she had to do is keeping her." He noticed the look on Jane's face and added, "I'm sure she just lost track of time."

"Maybe."

Jane was unconvinced. Lisbon would never lose track of time when she knew there was a case. She was much too dedicated to her work for that to happen. And the repeated attempts to call her that went unanswered only made him more nervous. She made it sound like it wasn't that big of a deal and she'd be right along when they had left the CBI.

"I can try again," Rigsby said quickly.

"No," replied Jane, shaking his head vigorously. "It's okay. I'm sure she's just busy." He was so glad he was a virtual wall of masks when it came to lying. Nobody could tell. This point was proven when Rigsby nodded his head.

In the following moments, when he suddenly reached out to hug his colleague, and when he so smoothly lifted the keys to Rigsby's SUV, his panic in his chest rose. The intense pounding in his veins did not quell until he was kicking dust behind him as Rigsby shouted at him to come back.

He was racing down the highway as fast as he could safely go with the twists and turns that melded into sandy shores and coves along the ocean. This was almost the same feeling he had after he had come home and found his family slaughtered; a tangible, icy grip on his heart that felt like it was squeezing the very life out of him.

Along with his pumping veins, Jane's mind also went into overdrive. He thought about how Lisbon tried so hard to hide the fact she was trying to get up in the crime-solving world by moving to another precinct. If it hadn't been for his instincts and her horrible inability to hide things on her mind, he might haven't had picked up on it. And the fact she had hid the application in her desk when he was using it to plan out one of his case-solving schemes didn't help, either. He hadn't brought it up to her because it wasn't his place; though he felt she was just running from something, he decided that it was her decision to make and he would not interfere with it. When push came to shove, however, and she actually did move on, he wasn't sure how he'd react. Would she want him with her? Would that be some kind of stipulation? And besides...what if they bypassed her for someone else and she didn't move on after all? He didn't like to see her disappointed. Funnily enough, it was usually with him that she seemed the most disappointed. Cases, behavior-there was a lot she seemed to be getting fed up with lately. He also knew that she had some feelings that were complex and confusing; he could see her face turn in expression when she didn't think he was looking if he was comforting a woman from a case or otherwise flirtatious with new recruits at the CBI. It wasn't necessarily jealousy, but more of a 'why not me' attitude. He had looked at many, many women over his long, tethered career as a fake to know what looked meant what.

His brain came back to reality when, as he reached a long, deserted stretch of road that veered off into a small valley, he saw something that made his heart drop to his knees. At the same time, his phone rang. He veered off the road and came to a screeching halt on the right-hand side. He quickly pulled out his phone from his vest pocket, was dismayed to see it was just Rigsby. He did not answer. Throwing his phone into the passenger side of the vehicle, he turned off the ignition and scrambled out of the car toward the thing that caught his attention.

He looked around rapidly, moving toward the object. He was disturbed that the sandy gravel near it had two perfectly placed gouges in them; as if someone had been dragged under the arms. He followed the marks in the ground around the car, and was horrified to learn that the tracks ended at a jutting rock that overlooked the valley down below. His heart jumped in his throat as his phone rang again from the car. This time, he ran to answer it.

"Rigsby," he stated, his breathing harsh and loud, "I found her car. Lisbon!" he shouted into the phone, "Lisbon is missing."

XXX

Her fingers felt wet; almost sweaty. Her hair was damp on the back of her neck, the strands stuck to her hot skin in a clump at the base of her skull. She leaned over and vomited the contents of her stomach on the floor, or what she thought was the floor as she couldn't see past the blindfold over her eyes.

There was a noise off to the side that made her sit straight in the chair she was attached to. The rope she had felt against her raw skin burned, letting her remember how long she had been tied with it. She stiffened as she felt warm breath on her face. She wanted nothing more than to scream, but she knew better. The last time...well, she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

The person huffing hot breath onto her skin leaned against her and she exhaled sharply. She was afraid they would touch her somewhere she didn't want to be touched, or do something equally as horrible. She had seen what these kinds of people do to people, and that thought both terrified her and gave her renewed strength to keep her wits about her. Not that her wits had proven to be necessary-there was no chance to do anything. She was tightly held to her chair, only able to use the bathroom with assistance. She was always fed by someone, and her hands remained unusable.

"Run," she heard in her ear as the sound of sawing invaded the small space of the room.

She felt the rope lessen in slack around her wrists and finally fall to the ground with a soft thud. She didn't hesitate; she ripped off the blindfold and squinted her eyes at her surroundings. As soon as she could see just s sliver of sunlight peeking through a door ajar in front of her, she stood unsteadily on her feet and felt her legs wobble as she ran to the door and ripped it open, running into the intense heat of the outside world.

Running for what seemed like hours, she hit a small highway just on the other side of some dense trees that separated where she came from. She waved her warms frantically at the passing cars, most coming a little close for comfort as she cried out.

"Help!" she cried, waving her hands wildly in the air. "Please," her voice cracked, "help me!"

She felt relief as an old, beat-up Chevy came to a halt in front of her. She ran around the front, opened the door, and hurried inside the passenger seat.

"Are you alright?" a young, blonde woman asked her with concern. "You look like hell!"

Lisbon surprised herself with a hoarse, nervous chuckle. "I've been through hell, lady."

"What happened? Do you need me to call 9-1-1?"

Lisbon shook her head immediately. She didn't want 9-1-1. She wanted Jane. "No. Can you call the CBI? In Sacramento?"

"I can't do that, ma'am," the lady told her with a shake of her head. "Are you sure I can't call 9-1-1?"

Lisbon closed her eyes, suddenly tired from her ordeal. "No."

"Do you know who you are?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, the CBI building has been empty for a year and a half," she answered softly. "It's gone."

That bit of information caused Lisbon's eyes to snap open and turn quickly to her savior. "A year and a half?! What's today's date?"

"July 7th."

The feeling in the pit of Lisbon's stomach tightened. She had been missing for a year and a half!

"What happened to you, ma'am?" the lady asked her again.

Lisbon tried to reach into the depths of her memories, but found things were blank. Like a chalkboard, things were wiped away when she tried to access them in her memories. She was horrified.

"I don't know," she whispered, fresh tears staining her cheeks. "I don't know what happened to me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello! Long time, no update! I am so sorry! I've just been kinda phased out this last year, but I hope to get back to it. It has been over a year since I last opened Word to type anything! I hope you enjoy! Please rest assure that I see your reviews and I am soooo beyond appreciative. Thanks and see you soon!**

* * *

Chapter one

* * *

Patrick Jane followed the nervous walk of Grace Van Pelt with unwavering eyes in the hospital waiting area at _Sacro Sacred Heart._ If he hadn't been literally chewing off his own thumbnail, he might have suggested she sit down and stop driving him mad. He might have even put her in a calm trance-unknowingly to her-if he hadn't felt every inch of what she was feeling and more.

"How long could it possibly take to examine someone?" Grace muttered under her breath, her patience wearing thin. "We haven't even gotten to see her! I mean...we thought she was dead!"

"That's not helpful, Grace," Jane replied softly, unable to muster anything louder than a mere whisper. "And _you_ thought she was dead. I had no doubt she wasn't," he corrected. He felt her abhorrent statement deep in his heart where it rattled his ribcage violently.

"She didn't mean that, Jane," Rigsby offered. "She's just concerned like the rest of us."

He did not reply to that. He knew Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho was just as unsure and uneasy about Teresa's re-emergence as he was. But he had told them many times before that Lisbon was alive somewhere, possibly hurt, but they had given up so easily on her. There was a resentment; an almost unforgivable conflict of interest. Even in the early days, they had tried to remain positive, but he could see through their false hope and words of comfort that fell on his deaf ears.

Jane took his eyes off of Van Pelt and focused on the double doors that lead down a hallway in which the doctor took Minelli. That was damn near fifteen minutes ago, and he still wasn't back with any news. He supposed this is what bothered him-the unknown. When Minelli had called him to tell him that they found her, he hadn't specified if she was hurt or not, only that she was alive. One thing Jane knew all too well was alive did not equate to being okay.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Minelli stuffed his way back through the double doors, his head down as he approached his team, who had gathered around him like followers in a cult. His old, tired eyes fell in a line to theirs; Van Pelt's full of fear, Cho's trying to be strong, Rigsby's faintly hopeful, and then Jane's. HIs eyes, he knew, reflected pain and worry. It was much easier to disguise faces rather than eyes. The eyes were the true windows to the soul, after all.

"She's fine," he said solemnly. "Physically, she has scrapes and bruises, there is a gash on her wrists from some kind of restraints." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "They're doing other tests."

"Sexual assault kit?" Grace asked, her voice hushed.

"Negative," replied Minelli, equally as quiet.

"Can we see her?" Jane asked, his mind racing a million miles.

Minelli turned to the other three detectives, a small, put-on smile highlighting the wrinkles around his mouth. "You'll be able to see her once the tests are complete, okay?" He took their disappointed faces in as they nodded. "It won't be too long, I promise."

Turning to Jane as the other three re-took their seats, his smile dropped and his face fell into the familiar frown that had graced it when he first came in.

"What's wrong?" A statement more than a question.

"She's asking for you, but before you go in there, I think you ought to know that she looks rough, Jane. Like she hasn't seen daylight in the last year or so." He shook his head slightly as if to remove the image of her from his brain. "She also has a bit of a problem remembering what happened to her or anything about her kidnapping."

"Dissociative?" Jane inquired.

"The doctors think so." He sighed heavily. "She doesn't even know the CBI disbanded. I hadn't the heart to tell her. This is a goddamn mess, Jane."

"What room is she in?" Jane asked, choosing not to tell Minelli how big of a mess it really was.

"713."

"Thanks," answered Jane, moving toward the double doors. Before he got far, though, he felt the warm hand of Minelli's on his arm, stopping him in place.

"Something happened to her, Jane. Something that we have yet to understand." He dropped his hand from Jane's arm and sighed. "You might want to slow down any ideas you may have where you want to use your…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "gift."

He said nothing as he turned away for the second time, leaving Minelli's concerned looking face behind the double doors. Minelli never really could understand that his "gift" wasn't something he could really control, and even if he could, his gift was largely devoid of working on Lisbon. But, in this instance, at this time, he would give anything to make it work.

He moved down the hall, passing by white-coats and nurses, down along the 700's printed on black plaques next to the doors. 709, 711, and finally 713. The door was slightly ajar, and a hospital security officer stood brusquely beside it, his hand on his holster. Jane flashed his CBI badge quickly at the guard, who nodded at him as he passed to enter Lisbon's room.

Upon entering, he was met with the sharp smell of plastic and metallic. Blood and tubes made his insides twitch; it was a horrific flashback to the night his family was murdered. He didn't run out of there, though. He wouldn't do that to Teresa. Instead, he moved closer to the white lump lying in the bed, tufts of brunette hair spilling over her pillow. He choked back a sob that threatened to explode from his chest, opting to reach a hand out and touch her foot instead.

A sudden jerk from the covers sent his hand reeling away, pushing hastily to his side as her body lifted itself into a sitting position, quickly whipping away strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. When her line of vision was finally un-obscured, her green eyes fell onto his bluish-green ones, the pupils dilating further than the medication had already done.

"I'm—I am so sorry," he apologized quickly, "I didn't mean to scare you, Teresa." It was the softest his voice had ever been. It was so foreign to him but sounded comforting.

"Jane!" It was a rush of relief, exhaustion, and pure emotion. She smiled, but the cuts on the corners of her mouth prevented it from being anything more than minuscule. "You came." She winced and dropped the smile.

He stepped forward slowly, realizing with agony that she was still in quite a bit of pain. He did not touch her; he was aware that she was being hyper-vigilant. Touching her shouldn't have scared her so badly with all the pain and sedation medication being administered. It was an auto-response to touching—he suspected deep PTSD. He'd have to tread lightly with her.

"Ten million men couldn't keep me away," he told her softly, a smile spreading across his face. "It's so good to see you, Teresa."

"It's good to see you, too, Jane," she replied softly, relaxing a little as she watched him take the chair next to her bed. "I didn't think I was going to see you again at all."

Jane sighed. "I would have found you," he told her matter-of-factly. "I've been looking since you went missing."

"You have?" She was slurring; a side-effect of the medication.

"I have," he assured her. "You scared the hell out of me and the team."

She looked away from him, taking the opportunity to find a particularly loose thread amongst the fabric that covered her body. He suspected she was ashamed she made them all worry. He didn't reassure her; he knew it wouldn't help. Instead, he waited for her to turn back to him and he smiled widely at her.

"What?"

"I'm just amused."

"Oh?" she answered. "Why is that?"

Ah! The sarcastic tone hadn't yet faded with the medication threatening to lull her into sleep. Good. He always believed that humor was an exceptionally useful tool for people who've been through trauma. It was a skill he had in his repertoire but seldom used anymore.

He shrugged. "I thought you'd be bossier." He waved a hand nonchalantly in the air. "You know…sending doctors and nurses fleeing because they fussed over you too hard or something." A chuckle escaped him as he lowered his waving hand.

She made a noise that sounded to Jane like a mix of a chuckle and a snort. "Believe me, I'm grateful for the human interaction." That was said a lot sadder than he was expecting, and it wrenched his heart. "I was going crazy wherever I was."

He sighed deeply, watching her as she shook her newly-shampooed hair. "You don't remember anything, Teresa? An accent or maybe even a tattoo?"

"Not really. I mean…" she scrunched up her face as if she were trying to will herself to remember something. "I don't recall anything useful. Damn it!" she said, her body hunching in defeat. "Why is everything so fucking blank?!"

He had heard Lisbon curse before, but only when she was backed into a corner about something. She must have seen the semi-surprised look on his face because she sighed and frowned, ghosting an 'ouch' as her sore lips slipped downward.

"It's okay, Lisbon," he assured her. "It's probably just the trauma of it all. Just relax." He really didn't need to say that; he could see the sedatives working on her, her eyes closing and opening like two blinking lights. "Maybe I should leave you to rest."

She did not answer, so he rose in his chair. Her eyes were closed now, a lock of her hair pushing across the pale skin of her forehead. He reached over as if to brush it away with his hand, but thought better of it.

"Sleep well, Teresa," he replied. "I'll be back later."

It wasn't until he had almost reached the white double doors that he heard the blood-curdling screaming coming from back the way he came. He turned around on his heels and sped off in the direction of the screams – Lisbon's room.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when the gasoline spread across the aged wood, making the enclosed area smell pungently acidic as it soaked into the slats and floor of the small cabin. Every last surface was wet with the foul liquid, including the tools and chair that stood in the center. It was no longer needed; the place had served its purpose, and then some.

They sat the gas can on the floor and reached into their front pocket, opening the small box of matches and flicking it against the flint on the side of the box. They watched greedily as the light danced to and fro on the end, ready to destroy any and all evidence for them.

With a quick flick of the wrist, the match flew across the room and landed on the coated floor, an ignition of fire spreading immediately in the small cabin. They watched it burn just for a moment before being interrupted from outside.

"Come on!" the voice commanded, "they'll see this all the way from Malibu if we don't get outta here!"

"I'm coming!" they replied, taking one last glance at the flames etching up against the walls.

They got in the car, at last, the dirt kicking up as they sped from the burning cabin behind them. Neither talked for a while until the last reddish-gold tint of the fire disappeared behind them.

"You know what we have to do next, don't you?" the driver said.

"Yeah," the passenger replied, "I do. How long do we gotta wait?"

The driver laughed. "Not long. Soon. When she's out of the hospital."

Neither said anything more. The next part of their plan was already set in motion. They only had to wait for Teresa Lisbon to let them know when to enforce it.


End file.
